Huntress
by The Lady Cloudy
Summary: Clove has always put a hundred and ten percent into everything. School as a child, training for the games, and even into her pre-games interview. But there's some things you just can't escape. For the April Starvation Prompt "Inescapable."


**Huntress**

_~Clove~_

"You're a huntress; born and bred. Twenty-three of them have fates that they will never be able to escape. Bring pride to your District and honor to yourself, sweetheart. That's all you have to do. Come back a Victor or don't come back at all…" _She meant killer_, I think as the sharp words echo through my mind. The "sweetheart" was added for the purpose of making me feel loved, but the coldness of her voice neutralized any words of affection. I gaze up at the ridiculous looking escort on stage. Tressa Locke. Yes, that's her name; her stupid, stupid name. Everything about her screams idiocy, from her sparkly neon green dress to the hideous mop of black-streaked blonde curls that sits atop her head. My knife itches to make her chest its sheath, but I have to hold myself back. There will be a lovely crop of victims as soon as I get into the Games, but until then I have to stay in control.

"Marynna Stonewell!" Tressa calls out and immediately I surge forward, just as I have imagined doing for months, arms waving. Ignoring the fact that I am roughly shoving people out of my way (I even have to kick one of them in the shins to get him to move) I continue on. There's one other cry of "I volunteer!" but I ignore the girl as I run up to the stage. Peacekeepers swarm around me, but they aren't fast enough and I charge up the steps ahead of them.

My breathing is ragged as I gasp out the words that have been dying to slip through my lips for months, "I volunteer as tribute and I will represent District Two, no matter who I have to get rid of to get my way!" After the volunteering part, the rest is simply arrogant babble to perhaps convince sponsors that I may be young but that I'm still strong. Fifteen is the new eighteen.

Tressa cocks her head to the side in a bird-like fashion that truly suits her rather avian appearance and beakish nose. She even has the airheaded aspect of birds. Stupidity seems to come naturally for the Capitol people. No matter how much the other people in my District worship the ground they walk on, I know better than that—they're dimwits. Still, they hold the power and as long as they do, I simply have to dance for them. And sometimes, I have to show up their system and make myself known. Besides, eternal fame and fortune aren't too shabby as rewards.

"Well…" she looks between me and another girl—an eighteen year old—who volunteered. My eyes wander overt towards Cato, the only one other than my mother who knew I was going to volunteer. The only one who didn't force me to do it.

"You," Tressa decides, jabbing her finger at me and almost poking me in the eye. Her nails are ridiculous, all neon green with a pattern of rhinestones. They're too fragile to be any use as the weapons they were intended to be. Capitol fashion is so silly and impractical. Comfortable clothes, long nails, and sharp teeth are best for fighting. So far, all they've managed to figure out is the teeth and even that took a prompt from the districts in the form of Enobaria. "What's your name, honey?"

"Clove Marcellus," I reply curtly. She goes and selects the name from the boys' bowl. Cato volunteers, despite the fact he wasn't supposed to, then takes the stage.

"Well, ladies and gentleman. Your tributes for the 74th Annual Hunger Games, Cato and Clove! May the odds be _ever _in your favor…"

* * *

The knife buries itself in the back of the boy from Nine's back with a satisfying 'thud' that brings a smile to my lips. That smile grows wider as I continue to charge forward, ignoring his fallen body, making a beeline for the girl from Twelve. Katniss Everdeen. Even the weak flower name that she bears mocks itself, only making her seem more pathetic than she is. She's just there, unable to escape from me and my knife. I have a special one picked out for her that I like to call Peeta. The irony of Katniss being killed by "Peeta" seems fitting for the girl who scored an eleven (most likely as a fluke). Now, she's there just waiting for me to kill her.

"Die bitch," I mouth at her, hurling my special knife at her head, hoping to at least mess up that pretty little face that Panem loves oh-so-much. The smirk is just starting to turn up the corners of my lips when a different 'thud' reaches my ears; the sound of my best knife being blocked by a backpack. A backpack! That bitch is going to die now!

As I surge forward, malice filling my eyes and seeming to drip from my mouth like the saliva of a vicious dog, Katniss has the audacity to get up. She races off as fast as she can and before I get a good chance at catching her, Cato's hand clamps down on my shoulder. As I glance up at him, practically spitting and hissing as though I'm a feral animal, he shakes his head.

"I volunteered so I would be able to help you. Mica was supposed to be the male tribute and Ryannon was supposed to be the female tribute—you know that full well. Once I heard your sneaky little plan—" he starts in a whisper, marching me towards the Cornucopia where one frightened tribute is trying to hide. He's being careful, making it look as though we're plotting instead of having the conversation we're having.

"The sneaky little plan _my mother_ came up with," I interrupt rudely.

"Whatever. When you volunteered I knew that I had to protect you—you're my sister. Mom and Dad may have separated but even if I don't live with Mom, and you don't have dad's last name, I'm still your brother. I will still protect you. Two of us can't come out of this arena and if only one of us does then I definitely want it to be you," Cato tells me, a worried expression flickering across his face for a brief moment before he stabs his sword down into the little tribute's chest, causing blood to splatter the two of us.

I sigh and stomp away from him, tightening my grip around the handle of my knife before I toss it at the girl from Seven, whose face was already so ugly that even burying my knife between her eyes didn't make it worse. The frozen look on her face is priceless; wide eyes staring pleadingly at me, blood trickling down her cheeks, her mouth hanging open in shock. The terror is worth so much—it lets me know I am still in control. They're all still mine for the taking.

None of them are going to escape me.

None of them _can_ escape me.

* * *

_Funny isn't it how things work out? Now, Twelve's mine. First, her. Then, Lover Boy. _

"Forget it, District Twelve. We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally…what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well first Rue, then you, and then I think we'll we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?" I hiss, flashing a smile at her that shows all my teeth. They taught us this kind of thing—the threatening, intimidation factor that would help us in the games—when we trained in District Two. Cato promised to let me kill her, but now I have to keep up my end of that bargain. I have to give the Capitol a show that they won't soon forget. Soon their precious "star-crossed lovers" will be no more.

_Then who will they root for? _Cato's words, whispered hastily in my ear after I told him about my plan, echo through my mind. His face appears in my mind, wearing that expression of worry that I've only ever seen directed at me and, once, at Glimmer—when she died. He doesn't care about most people, but when he does care, he throws himself into it.

_Us, of course, _I had replied at the time.

_What if they don't? What if they turn on us because we're responsible for the death of Katniss and Peeta? _He'd questioned. _Maybe they'll want that little girl from Eleven to win, or her District partner, or anyone. Clove, let them die of natural causes. _

_They love bloodshed, they'll love us. _I'd argued relentlessly and he'd given up. Now I was sharing Cato's concerns. The Capitol audience could easily be manipulated—as Katniss and Peeta had proved—but they could sometimes be unpredictable.

Suddenly, there were strong hands on me that lift me up and drop me away from Katniss, letting that little freak go free. My first thought is that it's Cato, not wanting me to kill Katniss and deciding to take matters into his own hands. Once I land roughly on the ground I realize that it most definitely is not Cato. It's someone very bad. Someone who has been one of the biggest threats to the Careers since the beginning of these Games. Thresh; the male tribute from District Eleven. He's one of the few of the few whose name we bothered to learn (along with Katniss and Peeta).

"Cato!" I scream. _This can't be happening. This can't be happening. I'm so close! Just a few more tributes and I could make my mother proud. All I've wanted is to make her proud of me, to make her like me more._

Thresh grabs a large rock and lifts it effortlessly, showing off just how strong he really is.

"Cato!" I cry again. "Cato!"

_He'll save me. He always does, _I mentally tell myself as I keep my eyes fixed on the rock, frozen by panic.

As the rock comes down my life doesn't flash before my eyes as I thought that it would. Instead, the images of my family come into my head. Cato's face looks terrified, fear morphing his features and something that looks almost like tears welling in his eyes—but I know he's not a crier. He never has been. My father is like Cato, in both looks and reaction; he's afraid for me, but still surprised that I'm simply lying down and dying instead of fighting back. Rissa, my cousin who was supposed to be the District Two tribute, is cursing at the screen and at herself as she paces back and forth. She's angry with everyone; me for volunteering, her for not volunteering. My mother is the last person I see. She's not angry like Rissa, she's furious. But she's furious with me for a different reason. I let her down. I let my District down.

All I ever do is disappoint her.

I do everything for her. I trained to make her proud. I volunteered to earn her respect. I murdered to gain her love. None of it has been enough. Nothing ever will be enough.

_Disappointing her has always been inevitable. I thought the Games could help me escape it, but they didn't, _I realize as a sharp pain shoots through my head and one last word dies on my lips:

"Cato…"

* * *

**This was written for the Monthly Starvation Prompt "Inescapable." **

**I don't know if Cato and Clove are actually siblings, but they do seem to care for each other and somehow I got siblings out of that. This is simply how I think they're connected. Also, there are direct quotes from the book. I don't own them.**


End file.
